This Could Mean War

I faithfully prepared coffee before heading to bed. 12 cups of water, 6 heaping scoops of freshly ground Starbucks’ Pikes Place Roast.

I crawled out of bed, still half-asleep, and started the coffee maker. Then I collapsed on the couch, unable to function until the miracle liquid had brewed.

What’s the best sound to a human ear in the morning? **Beep**

Roll off the couch, head to the coffee pot and pour a cup. Stare at it for another 15 minutes until mind and muscle are in sync to drink.

Heaven, right?

Wrong.

I sip and savor my first cup of coffee. Or more truthfully, I slowly drink my first cup because I’m unable to function well enough to drink it quickly. And I don’t like scalding my tongue, throat and esophagus, either.

So by the time I’ve finished my first cup and headed back for a second, the men around this place have already hit up the coffee pot a few times. And as men, they aren’t concerned with silly things like savoring, sipping or scalding.

The result? Barely enough coffee out in the pot to give me another cup. It’s another cup if I hold the pot over my mug to capture every drip. There’s certainly not any coffee for the fourth coffee-drinker that’s not rolled out of bed yet.

That’s just not right.

I think this may be the slurp heard round the world…